The Memoirs of Tessa Gray
by And Straight On 'Til Morning
Summary: A collection of scenes from Tessa Gray's life after her best friend, Will Herondale, dies from cancer. "Life is a book, and there are a thousand pages that I have not yet read." AU. Romance/Tragedy. [Will/Tessa]


This was mostly just written to assist me in getting over a major writer's block. I'm fairly happy with the way it turned out, so review?

**WARNING:** There is hinting to Jessa, but this mostly focuses around Will and Tessa. So it's mainly Wessa. And there's a one(?) swear word, I believe.

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _The Fault In Our Stars_ (There are several quotes from that book), _Phantom of the Opera, Alice and Wonderland, _or _Les Misérables_. I also do not own The Infernal Devices or the Herondale boys, sadly. ): we can wish, I guess.

* * *

**The Memoirs of Tessa Gray**

I remember when I was thirteen I had a conversation with my best friend. I had told him I was sick (as in a cold), and said I was dying, the usual dramatic teenage phrase. A thought occurred to me: _what if I actually died?_ So I asked him.

My best friend, Will, replied in the text message: _Do you want fiction or the brutal truth?_

_Brutal truth,_ I answered, curious.

_I'd shrug it off, and act like it didn't affect me._

A pang of hurt had shot through my heart then. I shut my phone's screen off, and curled into a ball, wondering. I knew he was rude to other people, but I was his best friend and that was several miles past rude, and onto Spiteful City. I guess he'd say something like that. Sometimes, Will acted as if everything was funny, yet he never laughed. He enjoyed to hurt people; I just never thought I'd end up to be one of them... At least not like that.

It was a while before the screen lit up again a long, extended message flashing below his name,_ Will H._

Out of morbid curiosity, I swiped my thumb across the screen to read the message then swiping my thumb below my eye for any tears. None were there.

_But on the inside, I'd be dying because my best friend had died, and piece of me had died with her. I'd be broken and I can only imagine the rage. I'm already mad at the world, Tess; you know that. The question of, "Why her?" would be a constant. So, I'd be forced into anger management and other various therapies to try and push along the process of forgetting you by my parents. But I wouldn't want to go because I wouldn't want to forget you._

I smiled faintly. That was my Will, the one who created suspense and didn't care about the outcome as long as it was poetic and dramatic.

_I hate you, you know that, Will? But with me, if you died, I probably keel over or something from lack of drama_. I had to admit, that was half serious. I couldn't imagine living without Will.

That was when he started to freak out. Panic, almost. _If I die, you're not allowed to die, Tessa. You have to go make something of yourself. Write a book, or become a dancer like you said you wanted to. Just do SOMETHING. Live for me._

I rolled my eyes, even if he couldn't see it._ Whatever. This is such a sad topic._

He responded again as if he hadn't seen anything._ Tessa, you're not going to see your loved ones if you die when you're 14 or 15. You're not gonna see them waiting for you. And I want to be there to take you away if I die, Tess. Okay? So no dying until you're 90 or something._

I laughed. _You're weird. But okay, fine. I, Theresa Gray, promise not to die until 90 or something. Happy?_

_Yes_.

It was only a year later that Will was diagnosed with leukemia. I always had this thought that Will knew what was going to happen. He always had this intuition that I could never understand.

* * *

I'm not going to discuss how William Owen Herondale, a boy who loved life, withered away. It's not how you should remember someone, at their worst. Rather, at their most jovial, happiest times. Like when Will, Jem—one of our friends who we were both very close with, though I was always closer to Will—and I went to the ocean, a common thing for us since we lived in sunny California.

That time was different somehow. I think it was because it was one of the last times we went to the beach, two weeks or so before Will was diagnosed. We'd gone; we'd body-boarded; and we'd laughed at the teenage girls that stared unabashedly at both Jem and Will. It was simple and wondrous.

The sun had shone brightly, sparkling off the blue water. The sand wasn't exactly white, like Florida beaches, but it was still amazing, sinking our toes into sand and inhaling the smell of salt.

"Hey, Will?" I called. I was fourteen at the time, a year younger than both Will and Jem.

"What?" He asked, shaking his dark hair free of the salty water. It was already stiffening into spikes.

"What do you fear?" I asked, remembering something from a book I read.

Will was silent for a while, just soaking up the sun. Then he spoke: "I fear ducks,"

I laughed, the kind that makes you roll on your side and giggle hysterically. I regained my composure. "Like seriously. Something that sends tremors up your spine."

The smile that had been on Will's face from my laughing eased off as he thought, a crinkle appearing between his eyebrows. "I fear dying."

I opened my mouth to say, _"Everyone's scared of that."_ Will's blue eyes snapped to me, and I shut my mouth under the intensity. "I fear what people will become if I die."

I hadn't known what to say to that. There were two William's, I'd learned over the years. There was the image, the one that most girl's fell in love with, and it was arrogant, spiteful, and sometimes Will forgot which Will he was.

Then there was the Will that I was best friends with. He was a lover of the classics, and he was perceptive, observant, abstract. I loved him.

So I said nothing. Merely smiled, and nodded, understanding. I guess that's what people feared about death, just they didn't know it.

They day went on, and now that I look back on it, I was glad we had that day. It was something Will could remember on the days of endless lack of energy and appetite.

Will had acute lymphoblastic leukemia. I still don't know exactly what all of the words meant, but they sounded like, _"Fatal, death,"_ and, _"pain."_ I wouldn't wish it on anyone, not even a clique of mean girls at school.

That's why we won't linger on William's illness. Instead, his impact on those around him.

* * *

Jem: he left behind a bond stronger than the one brothers shared. Jem mourned him adequately, to a healthy extent. His parents had died when he was younger, his mother of the same leukemia and his father of the grief. It was safe to say he knew how to handle grief, and yet I suppose it was harder for the boy who had lost almost everyone.

The Herondale family (in general): They were the same as James. They grieved Will, especially his mother and sister, Cecily But they had the sense to realize he would hate seeing them wallow in the pain. They had boundaries. They knew when enough was enough. They didn't forget him; just lived the way he would have wanted them to.

I would enjoy to say I was strong and was like Jem and Will's family. But I wasn't. I was depressed, angry and had no vision for my life anymore.

I have Cecily to thank for where I am now.

It was another day where I laid in my bed, trying to remember what Will's voice sounded like when his look-a-like younger sister barged inside the room. I glanced momentarily at her. "How did you get in?" I questioned weakly..

"Your mother," she said with steel in her voice.

I rolled on my side, away from the girl that hurt too much to look at. "Go away."

"No."

I didn't say anything in reply. Then I heard a sigh. "Tessa, he wouldn't want to see you like this."

"I know."

"Do you remember what he told you two years ago?"

"No," I murmured.

There was a sound of crinkling. "He said to read this to you if you got like this:_ If I die, you're not allowed to die, Tessa. You have to go make something of yourself. Write a book, or become a dancer like you said you wanted to. Just do SOMETHING. Live for me._ Do you remember now?"

"Yes." I remember that clearly. I just never thought that I would have to stick to that.

"You promised him, Tessa."

"I know."

Cecily sighed loudly, frustrated. She always had a short temper, like Will. "Then what's the matter with you?!" She threw her arms up. "You promised him. Now that he's...gone, you have to keep good to your promise!"

"I miss him, Cecily," I whispered, my eyes burning. "I miss him so much."

The end of the bed sunk and the springs contracting made a creaking noise. Cecily sighed sadly. "I know, Tessa. I miss him too. But the only way you're gonna remember him is if you go live for him."

I remember closing my eyes shut so tight that I saw stars, and then whispering back, "Yeah."

And that was the beginning of my life without William Owen Herondale, the Welsh boy that I never knew I loved.

* * *

I ended up getting my act together, but I never fully recovering from his death, though. Who does?

I applied to Juilliard my senior year for classical ballet, sticking to the career I'd wanted when I was thirteen. And believe it or not, I was accepted.

I searched out Broadway, doing plays like _Phantom of the Opera_ and _Les Misérables._ There was this time when I was performing a play adaptation of _Alice and Wonderland_, when I was twenty-one.

The lights had been bright, glaring out the audience almost entirely. Toes pointed, I doated across the stage, mysterious, playing none other than Alice herself.

The music stopped played; I froze; and the clapping ensued. As I stared into the crowd, my breath caught in my throat.

Even with the lights glaring, I could faintly make out the familiar silhouette. Sloping nose, high cheekbones, quirked lips.

_It's Will,_ I thought. _Impossible._

For a second, I saw a healthy version of my sixteen-year-old Will, alive. Then the figure stood, and walked out of the ilse. Strangely enough, there was no angry whispers to be heard at the figure's retreat. I stared after them, and just as they reach the door, they turned around.

The tailored suit fit his broad shoulders nicely-even I could see that at the distance I was at-and his dark hair was combed back sleekly. It was my Will, and yet it was not.

The figure gave a small wave of his hand, as if to say, _Goodbye_. Then they winked, and I knew it was Will.

Don't ask me how. I just knew.

* * *

_You may be wondering why I'm telling you all of this, dearest reader. Here's the answer: Will told me to write something. This is that something, a collection of memoirs._

_As I lay in my bed, I wonder: _is William going to come for me, like he said? I lasted longer than the bastard said I had to. William will have hell to pay if he does not.

_So what happened after my last sighting of Will?_

_After the last time I saw Will, I married Jem, who had pathed a career in law, and had two children with him, James and Lucie, after age ended my career. My two beautiful children grew up; Lucie became a doctor, and James became a engineer. They both married; they both had children. Time progressed. I lived for Will._

_Jem died at age eighty-seven, five years ago. I had a happy life, and even if Will's death was a tragedy at the time, it created the Tessa I am now. I still think the name is too old, even if I am now old myself._

_Old enough to die._

_I can feel it coming, reader. And I welcome it. I'm ready to leave._

_Goodbye,_

_Theresa Gray_

* * *

As I laid in the bed, my breaths become more shallow, my daughter clasped my hand. Her eyes were watery, and I reached to wipe away a stray tear. Lucie was only sixty-six, still my baby in my eyes.

Lucie smiled fleetingly as I caught the tear. "I'll miss you, Mom."

"Don't," I rasped out. "Life is a book, and there are a thousand pages you have not read yet."

Lucie laughed, and her brother James chuckled in the corner. "You always talked in books, Mom," Lucie said.

"She has," James agreed.

I smiled. "I learned it from a friend."

Soon, my breathing was shallow enough to be mistaken for a sleeping woman's, and my eyes fluttered shut. A featherlight touch appeared on my cheek. "You ready to go, Tess?" The words tickled my ear, and I smiled.

"Hey, Will. I was wondering when you'd show up."

"You lived a year longer than I said you had to. I was expecting even longer." I could hear the smile in his voice.

"I wanted to beat you," I murmured.

Will chuckled, and I opened my eyes. "Of course you did, Tess."

His eyes were still the same dark hue, still young and vibrant. Still him.

"I thought you'd be different somehow," I thought aloud.

Energy started seeping back into my body, and I felt airless. "Why would I be different?"

"Just 'cause."

Will smiled and I smiled, too, because I was exhilerated at the feeling of being around Will again. I looked at my feet, and found myself standing in knee-length grass, a golden color. "Where are we?" I asked.

He smiled. "Heaven. I've been watching you guys from up here, just to let you know."

I twirled in a circle, smiling, the grass moving around my calves. I stopped abrutly. "Did I ever tell you I loved you?"

Will had his hands in his pockets, and was now staring at his toes like I had. "No, but I knew, once I'd gone."

I grinned, and held out my arm. "Well, let's go, Sydney Carton."

Will glanced up, looked at my outstreched arm, and then we were off running, teenagers again with no worries in the world.

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